Late Night Favors
by TOtalBLondeCHick010
Summary: One night in Haven, Commander Cullen is awoken by a frantic banging on his door. Who is knocking? None other than the Herald of Andraste. What does she want? Read and find out! F!Trevelyan; Mage Inquisitor; InquisitorxCullen. Fluffy-ish crackfic ahead; you've been warned.
**Late Night Favors**

 _Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock_

Cullen woke and rolled over in his bed with a groan. His head was throbbing. Was it morning already? No, he realized as he peaked his eyes open. There was nothing but pale moonlight streaming through his window; it was nighttime. Still the incessant pounding on his door continued.

"Andraste's frilly knickers…" he muttered as he sat up in his bed, the sheets twisting around his ankles. He considered lying back down and going to sleep. Or possibly picking up his sword and giving whatever idiot was banging on his door a thrashing. He was eyeing the sword leaning against the foot of his bed warily, as if he was afraid it would jump into his hand and make him do something very not-commander-like, when a voice spoke from the other side of the door:

"Cullen, please, I know you're in there! I need help! Please open the door!"

Was that… Mercy Trevelyan? Why would Mercy, the Herald of Andraste, be knocking on his door in the middle of night?

Three weeks ago, Mercy Trevelyan was pulled out of what remained of the Temple of Andraste. He watched as they carried her unconscious body into Haven. He had tried to rise above blaming some random woman for everything that had happened—all the death—until they had proof or answers. But it was difficult. Anger spread in the town like a plague and he found himself needing to cool off, so when Leliana came to him and asked him to take a group and fight off the Breachers, he jumped at the chance to leave. That's when he actually met her.

They had managed to hold off the Fade creatures for a while, but their numbers were thinning rapidly. One wave was obliterated and another followed with barely enough time to gather their dead. It wasn't long before he lost count on how many swarms of demons came and fell. He cut down the last demon and ordered his soldiers to regroup. It was barely three minutes before the acid green tear in their world began convulsing again.

His men knew the drill by now; with hope fading at every twist and spark of that green portal, they raised their shields and readied their blades. He remembered wondering how many of his men he would fall to this wave. He wondered if he would fall with them.

The demons appeared in flashes of poison green. He had been fighting these creatures for years, but the sight of their slithering, warped bodies still turned his stomach. He could feel the fear among his men like a palpable entity surrounding him. With a cry that could have very well been their last, they charged. They fought with everything they had, but they were losing. Nobody else had fallen, but many were on their last legs as they battled the interlopers. Then, in a split second, everything changed.

A feminine cry echoed from behind him, and he sensed the familiar tang of fresh magic in the air. A bolt of lightning arced over their heads and struck down a Breacher. Arrows followed, piercing the creatures with a vengeance. Another spell struck; and, at the same instant, another, battle cry rang out, equally feminine but familiar. Cassandra. Help had arrived. When they joined the fray, the tides turned like nothing he had ever seen. Demons fell left and right to the newcomers' hands.

That's when he saw her; white-gold hair glinting in the pale mountain sun, black eyes shining. She smiled as she decimated the horde of demons with her magic. It wasn't a malicious smile, as if she took some sadistic pleasure in violence, but a kind smile. Joyful. As if she had just been glad to be there, to be alive.

He spoke with her when the demons were gone. She was small and quiet, almost shy, somber, but, as he would later learn, not very serious. She bit her lip when he spoke to her. He found himself wondering how someone like her could possibly do something as terrible as destroying the Conclave. She did the impossible shortly after when she closed not only the Rift he had been working against but when she stopped the Breach from its growth.

In the weeks that followed, aside from their brief talks about the Inquisition forces, they hadn't spoken. It almost felt as if the woman had been going out of her way to avoid conversing with the Commander.

So why, then, was Mercy Trevelyan now trying to knock his door from its hinges?

He heaved himself out of bed, forcing himself not to be mad at the Herald for disturbing his rest. Whatever she needed had to be of the upmost importance. So, scrubbing his hand over his face, he wrenched open his door, revealing the one-woman battering ram known as Mercy.

Fist frozen mid-knock, her eyes were wide with surprise. "Oh, uh, so you are awake. Here I was beginning to wonder if I had made some terrible mistake. You know, knocked on some other person's door on accident. It's happened a few times. Once, I was trying to find Solas—you know, the bald elf who looks a bit like an egg?—and ended up knocking on the potion maker's door. He was really nice about it, but for some reason he wouldn't let me leave until I took some of his freshly brewed contraceptive tonic with me. So, uh, if you ever need any contraceptives I… um… I have some." She finished with a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of her neck and watching her foot studiously. Her tanned skin appeared washed out in the moon's white rays, but he could thought he saw a flush on her cheeks.

"Herald," he said, ignoring her babble, "Is there something I can do for you?"

Her eyes, black and sparkling, sprung to his. "Oh! Well, yes, there is. But… um…"

He was sure now; she was blushing. "Herald?" He asked.

"Well." She coughed. "Could you maybe… put on a shirt?"

He blinked and looked down. He was shirtless. He was standing in front of the Herald of Andraste shirtless. Vaguely, he remembered stripping it off before he climbed in bed, knowing he would be too hot wearing it. Wonderful. He held a finger up to the woman— "One second," he said—and closed the door. When he opened it again, he pretended he hadn't been quietly cursing himself as he pulled on a shirt. "Now," he said, "What do you need?"

She bounced on her heels, ringing her hands together. "Alright," she said, "So. Um, well, this is a little bit embarrassing." She laughed in a way that was so uncomfortable, he wanted to cringe, and then looked at him as if waiting for him to say something. When his expectant look was her only response, she continued, clearing her throat, "So, there is a… spider. In my bed. A really big one. Really, really big. I need you to get rid of it for me."

Cullen froze. There was no way he was hearing this right. The Herald of Andraste, the woman who cut through hordes of demons like butter or jam or some other breakfast condiment, needed help getting rid of… a spider?

"A spider?" He asked.

"A spider."

He pressed his lips together in attempt to keep a straight face. He would not laugh at her. He wouldn't do it. Or, as it turns out, he would.

The laughter broke from his body with a snort and he found himself leaning on the door to keep from falling over.

Mercy stomped her foot. "Cullen!" She whined. "This is serious! Spiders are strange, and I can't stand them. They have too many legs and too many eyes and—Cullen! Stop laughing! It's not funny!" She swatted his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said breathlessly, trying and failing to rain in his mirth, "It's just… the thought of you—big, bad mage—cowering in fear of a little spider." His chest was beginning to hurt.

"It's not tiny!" She said indignantly. "I told you, it's really, really big!" She huffed, crossing her arms. "Stop laughing!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, my apologies, I'll stop." He placed a hand on his aching chest, still trembling, and took a deep breath. "So, what do you need me for? You're a mage; can't you just burn it?" He asked.

"No! I can't do that; that's cruel. I just want him out of my cabin," she said.

"And you can't remove him because…?"

"I told you; he's really, really big." She held up her hands in demonstration, cupping them together to make a circle that was nearly the size of her head. "Will you help me?" She asked.

Smiling still from his laugh, he nodded. "Of course, Herald, I would be honored."

"Thank you," she breathed, before leading the way back to her cabin. Haven wasn't a large town and they arrived in less than two minutes.

The second she opened the door, he saw the spider, and he had to admit, it was really, really big. The thing was just sitting there on her covers, spindly legs stretched out. He got the eerie feeling it was watching them with its glinting black eyes, similar to Mercy's but oh, so different.

"Are you sure you don't want me to just smash it?" He asked, marveling at the size of that monstrosity.

"And get bug goo all over my blankets? No, thank you," she retorted quietly, looking over his shoulder at the giant arachnid on her bed.

"Alright," he said, and, with Mercy firmly glued to his back, he moved to the side of the room opposite the bed, where a table sat and on the table a large bowl. He picked up the bowl and walked cautiously to the creature on the bed. He made to cover the creature with the clay dish, but before he could lower it over the thing, the spider dashed to the edge of the bed faster than he could blink and made a fantastic leap, right over his head—

And onto Mercy's.

There was a squeal and a sudden gout of scorching fire behind him.

He turned to see Mercy standing frozen, fingers curled into her chest, and a pile of smoldering ashes on the ground. The whole world seemed to stop as wispy tendrils of smoke rose from what was once a gigantic, powerful, intelligent spider.

Then, Mercy snorted. Laughter tumbled from their lips like a dam had broken loose. Legs weak and stomachs aching, they leaned on each other to keep from falling over. It was a solid twenty minutes before either of them could breathe regularly again, only to be dragged back into a laughing frenzy by quiet giggling or an unexpected snort.

Commander Cullen would for years cite that night as the start of their friendship, born of crippling laughter and late night favors. Mercy would insist for years more that their friendship started the day they met in the mountain pass. Cullen stopped disagreeing with her after a time, but when their children asked when he knew Mercy was the one for him, he would pull them onto his lap and tell them about the time their mother came knocking on his door in the middle of the night because of a really, really big spider.

* * *

A/N: This story was written at the bequest of my BFFAEAE and partner in #Winning, onebecamenone or OneofWebs as she's known on this website. She's a fantastic author, so you should definitely check her out if you have the time.

The writing prompt here was my inspiration for this: post/138647519385/prompt-239

Dear reader, thank you for taking time out of your day to read my story! I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you have a lovely rest of your day~ 3


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